


I.O.U

by anniebanannie



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cats, Fluff, M/M, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 22:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4894168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniebanannie/pseuds/anniebanannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has two cats. Enjolras has no cats. The landlord is coming to Grantaire's apartment. There are no cats allowed in their complex. Clearly, someone has to watch his cats. The hot guy next door seems to be as good a candidate as any.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I.O.U

**Author's Note:**

> so this is my first fic that I've ever completed and definitely my first that I've ever posted on the internet so please go easy on me!! i got the idea from a prompt about catsitting and apartments and this was all i could think about. if this does okay i may write a second chapter or something about enjolras's sketchy favor that he asks for in return uvu

"I know this is probably gonna sound really, really weird," says the hot guy from the apartment next door, "but can you look after my cats for a few hours?"  
"What?" Enjolras asks, completely blind-sided by the odd request. "I, um. Why? And why me?"  
The guy sighs like he just really needs Enjolras to understand him, which, presumably, he does. "It's kinda complicated," he explains, "but the gist of it is that i may have accidentally fucked up, like, every sink in my house? So now I need the landlord to come up and fix it, but I have two cats, and--"  
"Isn't this complex pet-free?" Enjolras interrupts, then feels his face heat. "Sorry, that was rude, I shouldn't have interrupted you."  
"Yeah, no, that's like, exactly what I was getting at though," he responds quickly, words tumbling over one another in the rush to come out of his mouth, "I have two cats, and I am really not allowed to have them, so it'd be really nice if you could do me a favor and just--take them, for a few hours." The guy must sense Enjolras's hesitation, because he hurriedly adds, "Look, I can pay you if you want. I'll give you like, ten bucks, but the landlord is gonna be up in like five minutes, and I'm kinda desperate here--"  
"I can see that," Enjolras cuts in, holding his hands up in a gesture he hopes is vaguely placating but not patronizing. "I can take the cats, but, um. I'm just wondering--why me? We've never really spoken before, and I--oh god," he breaks off to scrub a hand over his face, "I don't even know your name?"  
"It's Grantaire," Hot Guy grins, and wow, somehow it seems really fitting? Confusingly hot guy, confusingly hot name. "I live right next door to you, yeah?"  
"Yeah, I know," Enjolras says slowly, like this is obvious knowledge (and really, it is--they've walked into the building together more than once), "but I wanna know why I'm the one being asked to watch these cats instead of, say, anyone else on this floor?"  
"Easy," Grantaire replies effortlessly, "You're right next door and I haven't actually interacted with anyone else in the building." The way he says it is so casual that Enjolras almost forgets that it's weird to have not interacted with any of your neighbors when you've lived in a place for going on, what, 4 months now? Something like that.  
"That's kind of sad," Enjolras blurts out before he can stop himself. Too late, the words are out there. Enjolras never did have that great of a filter. He's definitely been in his fair share of fights, most of which were started by something he said on an impulse. Luckily, Grantaire doesn't seem phased.  
"Yeah, probably," he shrugs, "But you can take the cats, right?"  
Enjolras sighs. "Yeah, I guess so. How long is a few hours-?" he starts to ask, but by the time the words leave his mouth, Grantaire has already dashed back to his apartment, probably to pick up the cats in question. It feels how he imagines being hit by a hurricane would feel. He subconsciously checks his hair to make sure it hasn't blown out all crazy in the wind, then instantly catches himself and feels stupid. "There was no actual hurricane," he chides himself, "Get yourself together."  
"Okay, so this is Sheila," Grantaire calls as he's stepping out of his apartment, then hurries over and hands Enjolras a white and orange kitten with a squashed in face. "and this is Sir Tubby Fluffybutt the second." The second cat that's thrust upon him is humongous; he's fat and gray and incredibly furry, and Enjolras is suddenly aware of how painfully accurate this cat's name is. "I don't think you'll need to feed them or anything, but I'm bringing over all their shit because it'll look real suspicious if I have a ton of cat stuff lying around my house with no cats in sight." After he hands off the cats to Enjolras, he runs back to his apartment and comes back with two cat beds and a scratching post. The next trip sees a litter box and a giant bag of cat food on his apartment floor. The third time, when Grantaire returns with an entire box of cat toys, Enjolras has the presence of mind to ask him, "Exactly how much cat stuff do you have?"  
"This should be the last of it," he replies, although the uncertainty in his voice is clear enough that it makes Enjolras want to call this whole thing off and leave him to his own devices, no matter how hot he is. "Okay, so yeah. I'll come back over once the landlord is gone, and I'll like, get all this shit off of your hands okay?" He pauses for a moment, then adds, "Okay, I meant that metaphorically. The metaphorical shit. If they shit in your hands, no offense, but like. I'm not cleaning it off your hands, y'know?"  
Seeing the way Enjolras's eyes widen, he hastily says, "Oh, I don't think they're going to, y'know, shit on your hands or anything but, I just--" he cuts himself off with a cough and finishes weakly, "I'm just gonna go now, okay?"  
"Uh, yeah, sure thing," Enjolras answers, not entirely sure what just happened. The hurricane feeling isn't going away. If anything, it's just getting stronger.  
"I'll be back in a couple hours!" Grantaire throws over his shoulder as he heads back to his own apartment, leaving Enjolras standing in his doorway while surrounded by cat toys and holding a cat in each arm.  
\- - -  
"Please get off of my cabinets, cat," Enjolras pleads, holding out the broom and trying to sweep it over the top of the cabinets, but the cat just lays there unaffected. He stares down at Enjolras with his big green eyes and blinks angrily. Can cats even blink angrily? he thinks, nudging it with the broom. The fat lump of fluff still doesn't move, just closes his eyes and swipes his tail back and forth over the cabinet doors. "Stop taunting me and get down, asshole." No response. He sighs. Maybe he should just go see Grantaire, tell him he's having issues with his sink and ask him if he'll help--?  
No, he can't do that, because then the landlord will come over and try to fix it since that's basically all he's good for anyway, besides taking all their money and charging way too high of rent for how shitty these places are. He pushes his hair out of his face and leans back against the counter. "At least Sheila's behaving," he says, looking over to where the small kitten is sleeping contentedly on the arm of his couch. For a moment, he watches her breathing, seeing the rise and fall of her tiny body, and smiles. "You, on the other hand," he adds acidly, "Are not being very nice, Sir Tubby Fluffybutt the second." The cat in question glares down at him with all his mighty rage, then, wonder of all wonders, stands up.  
"Oh, have you decided to rejoin the people instead of reigning from your seat of privilege upon the cabinets of fascism?" Enjolras scoffs, arms folded. Sir Tubby Fluffybutt the second pads back and forth across the top of the cabinets as though looking for the best place to jump down, and for a moment, Enjolras thinks he may have won the battle. Instead of jumping down, however, the cat just hurls his large, furry body across the small gap between the cabinets and the top of the fridge. "Oh, god fucking damn it!"  
Sheila glances up at him from her perch on the armrest as if to say, "Why are you yelling? I'm trying to sleep here." Enjolras drops the broom on the ground with a discontented sigh, then heads over to the couch and sits down on the same side as Sheila. She leans into his hand as he scratches behind her ears. "What are we gonna do about your brother, huh, duchess?" he says absently as he pets, eyes still trained on the cat on the fridge. She only purrs in response, which, in hindsight, maybe makes a whole lot of sense considering she's a cat.  
"Okay, I'm going to stop talking to myself now and get the damn cat off the fridge," he declares resolutely, pushing himself off the couch and striding over to the closet in the hallway that leads towards his bedroom. Once the door his open, he roots around in the bottom of the closet for his step stool, then pulls it out and carries it over to the fridge. "Come here, you piece of shit," he mutters, reaching up to lift the heavy fuck off of the top of the fridge. Even with the added height, it's a bit of a stretch, more than he'd like to admit. God damn genetics, why do I have to be so short? he thinks bitterly, standing on his tip toes and wrapping his hands around the mass of fluff. Sir Tubby Fluffybutt the second is not happy about this, and he meows morosely as he's lifted from the fridge. Enjolras carries him back and puts him on the cat bed Grantaire had brought over for him. Immediately, he tries to get back up again, but Enjolras catches him and holds him close so he can't escape.  
He ends up with a lap full of fat, unhappy cat, but in the end it's okay, because this way he doesn't even need a blanket while he's relaxing on the couch. It's like having a space heater on your lap, if space heaters were giant balls of fur and pent-up anger. He turns on the TV and flips to FX, hoping there's some not shitty movie on, and is delighted to find they're just playing Iron Man back to back. Settling down on the couch means readjusting Sir Tubby, but at least he seems to have calmed down some, because instead of dashing for the fridge he just curls into Enjolras's side where he's laying on the couch. Sheila's blocking his view of the TV from her perch, so he uses his free hand to relocate her to his chest, where she walks around for a while just kneading his torso before finally deciding on a place to lie down.  
He'd never considered himself a cat person before, has always viewed them as haughty, snobby creatures that like to cause mischief and wreak havoc on everyone's lives, but he's starting to rethink that as Sir Tubby flops over to bare his stomach to him as though just asking to be petted. It's in this position--with one hand giving a belly rub and a small kitten on his chest--that Enjolras falls asleep.  
\- - -  
When Grantaire knocks on the door next door about two hours after the first time, there's no answer. He rocks back on his heels a few times and checks his phone, but there's still no answer. He knocks again, but it's the same. There's sound coming from inside, probably the TV-- maybe the guy just can't hear him. After checking the door knob and noticing it's unlocked, he slowly pushes the door open and peeks his head around so as not to startle the poor dude. "Hello? You in here? It's Grantaire."  
No response.  
Clearing his throat, he adds, louder, "Your next door neighbor? The guy who dumped all his cat shit all over your apartment? The-- the metaphorical shit. Y'know, we went over that earlier, how it's not really shit--" He smacks his palm into his forehead and mutters, "Jesus, stop talking, dumbass." He pushes the door open wide enough for his body to fit through and slides through the gap. Looking around, he sees a tiny kitchen to his left, a hallway beyond that, and a small yet tasteful living area directly in front of him. Dispersed throughout the space are the various cat possessions that Grantaire had given him earlier-- the cat bed is at the foot of the couch, the litter box is beside the entertainment system, and there are toys all over the floor. One glance into the kitchen tells him that the food dishes are on the floor and they both actually have food and water in them, which makes him chuckle. He didn't realize his neighbor would put so much effort into a two or three (at most) hour project. When he turns back to the living room, he notices that Sheila and Sir Tubby Fluffybutt the second are both curled up on top of what must be his sleeping neighbor. He doesn't mean to stare, but he really can't help it; besides the guy's almost inhumanly attractive face, the scene is unbearably cute. Sheila has parked her tiny body on the man's neck, rolled up into a little ball and purring like an engine. Sir Tubby is laid out along his side, which in and of itself is unusual, because Sir Tubby doesn't generally like new people. Even if he does, he doesn't lay down and snuggle with them. "Who even are you?" he mumbles to the sleeping man's form.   
He carefully starts trying to pry the guy free of his cat prison, one furry blanket animal at a time. Sheila ends up cradled in the crook of his elbow while Sir Tubby wraps himself around Grantaire's shoulders. He's about to begin the process of hauling everything back over to his own apartment when a thought hits him that he should probably leave the guy a note for when he wakes up. The cats are returned to their natural home and Grantaire returns to the man's place with a pad of paper and a pen.  
"Dear super helpful next door neighbor whose name i regretfully dont know,  
Thanks a ton for watching the furballs for me. It was really cool of you considering you dont actually know me at all and i kinda dumped them on you last minute. If, in the   
nearby future, you happen to need a super sketchy (or even not that sketchy--im not picky) favor, then im your guy. I seriously owe you one dude.  
-R (your neighbor)"  
After debating for a minute, he hastily jots his number down with a smiley face next to it under his scrawled note. Hurriedly, he removes the rest of the shit from the apartment and closes the door behind him, smuggling everything back to his own place. It isn't until afterwards that he realized that the movie playing on the guys TV was Iron Man, and the thought shocks him into laughter.  
\- - -  
Enjolras reads the note in stunned silence, and is somehow surprised to find himself grinning like an idiot.  
\- - -  
"My name's Enjolras, by the way."  
reads the note taped to Grantaire's door. He eyes the number scribbled on the bottom and laughs out loud.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is UNBETA'd and therefore probably has a lot of errors or something but if you see any please point them out to me!! thank you so much for reading my fic i hope you enjoyed it!!!
> 
> follow me on tumblr if you wanna i post about les mis a lot (a LOT) my url is scorpdaddy id love to see some of yall


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